


Iron Swift

by Lionfire42



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, First fic on this site, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Title Likely to Change, Tony has the Speed Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionfire42/pseuds/Lionfire42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark: Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist...and the Fastest Man Alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Tony experienced the power of the Speed Force, he almost died.

The year was 1991, and Tony was well and truly alone in the world.

Well, that wasn't completely true. He had DUM-E, but considering the bot had the IQ of a dog, that wasn't much. As it was, he couldn't be sure that he would be able to stomach his creations presence.

After all, it had been in the midst of his drunk celebrations that he’d found out that Jarvis and Maria were dead.

Oh, and Howard too.

Most people would find it strange for a son to call his parents by their first names but Tony was a genius, and conforming standards were for the inept.

And since he was _just like his father_ (genius, billionaire, drunk), he was far from inept.

Which was why is made perfect sense, in his mind, to stand on the mansion’s thatched roof in the numbing rain and hurl his father’s work in the raging storm.

All his notes, diagrams, blueprints, Captain America memorabilia—gone. Scattered to the gale and ruined in the downpour.

Breathing heavily, Tony collapsed, clutching the weather vane with wet, swollen fingers, huddling against the freezing chill of the brick chimney. His tonsils burned and his eyes watered, and Tony realized with a sense of hysterical bemusement that he’d been alternately swigging his father’s whiskey and screaming himself hoarse. The genius part of noted that, should he continue to remain outside, he ran an extremely high risk of, you know, dying.

A part of him, a dark shadowy corner in his mind whispered for him to do that. Just sit there and wash away, allow the rain to take away his pain and responsibility and self.

And then his eyes fell on the final box by his knee, and shadowy voice morphed into Howard’s slurring curses and a ball of heat grew in his gut.

He would not fall here, surrounded by his father’s ghostly taunts and cruel hand.

With an engineer’s dexterity, he withdrew the dozen or so vials from the tattered shoe-box of some expensive Italian brand he’d thrown them in, and began quickly and efficiently screwing the caps off. When the task was done, he shakily stood, feet slipping slightly with the rain and alcohol.

This was the last of Howard’s work. This is where Tony Stark would be born.

“Screw you, old man.”

The vial’s contents, some dust, some sludge, some strange colored liquids were tossed out into the storm.

And then they reversed direction with the wind and scattered over Tony’s face and hands, in his eyes and mouth, soaking and ruining his t-shirt.

Gagging and coughing, Tony swiped at his face. His feet slipped on the slick roof.

Tumbling forward, scrambling fingers seized the decades-old weather vane, and the vane quickly proceeded to twist and break under the weight of the twenty-year old genius.

The world seemed to mute itself as Tony fell, the vane still gripped in his fingers. The world flashed white as lightning arced across the sky, a single bolt breaking off to score a seemingly gentle touch to the metal rod.

Muscles convulsed rapidly, the chemicals hissing and burning and fusing as energy wreathed the falling form. Synapses in the brain fired all cylinders, connecting and evolving and creating in a way that would change the way Tony looked at the world forever.

Tony was changed forever in less than a single second.

And then the world caught up with this reality-changing event, and thunder pealed the finale, and the rain continued to fall, though almost gently now, against the back of the figure sprawled on the dense bushes surrounding the back of the Stark family mansion.


	2. Chapter 2

 

   When Tony opened his eyes, it was two months later.

   Of course, he hadn’t known that. All he understood was that the room he was in was cold and white and the scent of disinfectant burned in his nose. The IV felt heavy in his wrist, and the only thing that stopped him from ripping out the cord and demanding a nurse to help him up and out (out the hospital, not his bed. Though, to get off his bed would probably be better, but he was all for bribing someone to wheel him out on his bed. He detested hospitals) was the familiar scowl of Rhodey at his bedside.

   “You _would_ choose to throw a party after your old man died.”

   “Wasn’t a party.” Tony murmured. Shifting against the thin sheets, he wiggled his body and, feeling no discomfort, he sat up.

   “How long was I out?” he croaked. His voice was dry, and he coughed, smacking his tongue around to conjure forth some moisture. His muscles felt stiff from disuse.

   Rhodey glanced away. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know. When they found you, you were completely soaked through. It’s a fucking miracle you didn’t get pneumonia.”

   “Well, you know me.” Tony reached over to jab the button to summon a nurse. “I’m the luckiest bastard around.” In the back of his mind, Tony realized there was no possible way he could have managed to avoid any type of illness having been struck by lightning and remained unconscious in the rain for who knows how long, but swiftly overtaking that thought was his previous question. “Stop stalling, Rhodes. How long?”

   Rhodey told him. He was out of the hospital within an hour.

   The first thing he did was track down whatever storage company was holding his stuff. Rhodey had been kind enough to arrange for his things to be moved out of his apartment and put away in a highly private and well-protected storage unit. He then proceeded to pay a moving company an outrageous sum to come and quickly move all of his stuff to the family mansion. Well, his mansion now. Not that it had ever really housed a family. Howard was in the bed of other women more often than not, and his mother was usually at some charity or convention. He himself was usually at some boarding school for most of the year. The days when all of the Stark family were under the same roof was a rare one.

   He spent ten minute swearing and sweating as he hauled Dummy’s large frame down the basement stairs into what was once his father’s lab. The lab was much the same as the last time he’d been in it, two months previous. The layer of dust had been disturbed during his drunken chaos had resettled and thickened. Papers and blueprint still scattered the floor. One glass cabinet was shattered, and shards littered the floor like frozen raindrops.

   Tony struggled to set up the charging station, his body finally starting to give out after the long day. Immediate activity after two months of bed rest was not good for anyone, even one as young and as healthy as himself. He maneuvered Dummy into the station, plugged him up, and then collapsed on a folding chair, sweeping filthy, liquor-stained rags out of his way and kicking his shoes off. There was so much to do, but a nap wouldn’t hurt…

* * *

 

   A shrill ringing startled him awake, and he leapt from the chair, only to howl in pain and stumble back into it. His bare foot had caught on a piece of glass, and he could feel the shard shifting just under the skin on his sole.

   The ring was coming from one of several battered phones hanging on the wall. Swearing and limping and awkwardly attempting to avoid any further injury to his person, he managed to reach the phone and snagged it off its base. “Hello?” he snapped.

   “Tony! I heard you managed to get out of the hospital. Figured you’d go and hole up in your old man’s place.”

   Tony felt some of the irritation he felt fade away. “Obi?”

   “One and only. Hope that lightning strike didn’t fry some of your brain cells. The company’s going to need that brain of yours in the future.”

   Even the mention of his father’s legacy wasn’t enough to dim the pleasure he felt from talking to one of the few people he felt actually cared about him. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t really thinking about that yet you know? I still want to do stuff before I get chained to SI.” Tony limped back to his chair again, handset clutched to his ear.

  “That’s fine, that’s fine,” Obadiah responded easily. “They went over the will while you were out. You can’t actually take control until you’re twenty-one, then everything goes to you. I’ll handle it ‘till then. You’ve still got access to your trust fund, so try not blow it all in the next two years, kay?”

    Tony snorted. “Please, Obi, I doubt I’ll starve. You know how Howard was during the Cold War. There’s probably enough food stored in the mansion and the bunker to survive for half a decade.” He hissed as his probing finger nails extracted the shard from his foot.

   “True. Look, I have to go but take care of yourself okay? I’ll talk again soon.”

   “Take care of yourself, Obi. Do I seem like the kind of person who’s irresponsible?”

   “A slew of tabloids would tell an idiot the answer to that question,” was the dry response before the line went dead.

   Tony couldn’t help the fond smirk that graced his face as he set the phone on a nearby workbench. Obadiah was one of the three people in the world he’d be devastated to lose. Two people now, actually. Jarvis was gone, and the remembrance of that fact nearly took his breath away.

   But he had Obi, and Rhodey, and two years of relative freedom to look forward to. Jarvis wouldn’t want him to mourn. He would have wanted Tony to do what he did best: invent.

   He cast his gaze around the workshop. There was a lot to do.

   No time like the present then.

   He glanced down at his foot to see how big the wound was; he certainly hoped he wouldn’t have to search out a Band-Aid.

   Then he glanced again. He rubbed his thumb along the sole, probing where he was sure the glass had gone in.

   Nothing. Not a scratch. Not even an ache.

   Tony frowned, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth slipped on his shoes, intending to look for a broom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Something was wrong.

 

Tony flexed his fingers and...there!

 

A tremor blurred his hand, before stopping, leaving him staring at his sporadically twitching hand.

 

“Maybe I should sleep,” he mused aloud.

 

Sleep-deprivation was the most likely culprit, considering the copious amounts of alcohol and coffee he’d consumed. Her was pretty sure the sun had risen, but he had no idea on what day it was doing so.

 

Strangely enough, he really didn’t feel tired. He’d consumed six large bottles of brandy so far, but he couldn’t feel much as a buzz.

 

That was...somewhat concerning, now that he thought about it.

 

He dubiously eyed the tattered cot in the corner of the workshop. The once white sheets were now an off yellow shade, probably due to spilled liquor or (and this was a horrifying thought) vomit.

 

Nope. He had standards.

  
He set aside the laptop with his new DUM-E’s new code update and got to feet, only for his knees to practically crumble as his stomach screamed in hunger.

 

DUM-E, though limited as he was, whirred over, beeping in what Tony thought may have been concern.

 

“M’kay,” the genius murmured, waving off the bot’s uncertain claw. “Just go back to charging, okay?”

 

DUM-E beeped, but slowly, and possibly reluctantly made his way back to his station.

 

Tony shuffled slowly to the stairs, and painstakingly began the long trek to the house proper. He couldn’t remember when he felt this hungry. This wasn’t his usual “look up from his work after two or three days and get a sandwich” hungry. This was full blown “stomach has shrunk like a starving person in a developing country” hungry. This was “can barely make it to the fridge, hell can barely move” hungry.

 

He managed to reach the landing before his legs gave out on him completely.

 

Panic flooded his senses. His stomach hurt and his body was trembled as he tried to marshal his limbs into moving. His mind, he noted hysterically, was still running through the codes for DUM-E’s upgrade while another part of him wondered if he should eat or sleep, and yet another part of him was comparing his symptoms to various ailments.

 

His grasping fingers caught a side-table, and Tony dimly heard the crash of shattered glass as…

 

Candy.

 

The candy was for guests, but Tony couldn't care less as grabbed hold of one and stuffed it in his mouth, wrapper and all. His teeth began to chew, and the candy was crushed within it’s wrapper, before it’s beloved sweetness wormed out between wrapper tears to meet his desperate tongue.

 

More candy found his way into his mouth, and eventually, he gained enough strength to begin actually unwrapping the sweets before he ate them. Within a few minutes, he sat, breathless, with the buzz of sugar radiating (and that wasn't right, sugar shouldn't be absorbed and digested and affecting him this quickly) through him, extracting mangled strips of wrapper from his teeth, and thinking, overall, _what the fuck just happened_?

* * *

 

One bottle of brandy, one Twinkie, four towering sandwiches and a fair amount of frantic research, and Tony was still just as lost as he’d been an hour earlier.

 

For starters, his caloric intake should have been equivalent to that of a person who performed light exercise a few times a week. But based on the amount of food, he’d just easily consumed, his caloric intake was level with a person who was performing heavy exercise several time a week.

 

He wasn’t lazy or unfit, but he wasn’t army workout crazy either. It made no sense. He hadn’t done anything recently to explain-

 

Oh.

 

Tony sat down hard as a terrifying thought occurred to him. Steve Rogers had been injected with the serum before being bombarded with Vita Rays. His father, in between looking for the fallen hero, had been trying to recreate the serum, the results of which he’d been doused and electrocuted with.

 

But Tony hadn’t woken up as a hunk. He’d woken up sore and normal with his less than hard-as-adamantium abs.

 

You should have been sick, his mind hissed. You should have been injured, falling haphazardly and drunk from a three-story mansion.

No. Tony stood, almost knocking over his stool. The empty brandy bottle quivered at the movement, tipping over at the edge of his peripheral vision, slowly teetering off the edge and-

 

And-

 

The world seemed to stop, the bottle stood still in midair, suspended gracefully. The clock stopped ticking, All noise ceased. For a single second, one that felt like eternity, everything stopped moving, except for him.

 

And then the bottle was moving and crashing and shattering, the clock resumed it’s tick, tick, and the faint hum of the furnace began again.

 

Tony found himself leaning against the counter, gasping as terrified shivers wracked his lean frame. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry.

 

He had to get out of here.

 

He moved rapidly through the halls, snagging his wallet and pulling on his shoes. He thought of grabbing his car keys, but his mind rebelled. He didn’t want to be restrain and contained right now. Right now, he needed to feel the wind on his face, the burn of his muscles moving, the sweat of exhaustion drenching him so he didn’t have to _think,_ because his mind was going off the rails right now.

 

The door was closing behind him now, and then he was jogging up the driveway, faster, and faster, and he was feeling less tired not more-hold on, was that the diner downtown? The hell?-and then the world simply blurred away.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long.
> 
> For those of you who are confused, I always wondered why the amount of food Flash would require was glossed over in his comics. Yeah, the Speed Force compensates for a lot, but there's only so much it can do for him.
> 
> Tried to make it seem like I knew what I was talking about concerning Tony's caloric intake. Here's a resource for those extra curious: 
> 
> http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/how-to-measure-your-metabolic-rate.html

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Archive of our Own. I'm a newbie, transferred over from ff.net and I would love it if you reviewed. 
> 
> I've wanted to cross the Flash and Ironman for so long! Indeed, I might even have a few more characters pop in this story.
> 
> Special thanks to Kitsune Heart for giving me an invite, even through the spam ban.


End file.
